


Pretend

by taketheblanket



Series: Landsailor x Cloudraker [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Character Study, Love at the end of the world, M/M, Sad Sad, game canon, hand holding, lots of emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taketheblanket/pseuds/taketheblanket
Summary: Every step forward on their journey brings Noct new powers and intensifies Gladio's longing to rescue his King from the inevitability of his path.In a moment of weakness, Gladio grabs Noct and runs.





	Pretend

Ramuh’s rain had drenched Duscae, washed away any dust and decay and left behind rejoicing flora, vibrantly green in the cloudless sunrise. Birds emerge chittering from their nests, stretching their wings into a welcoming sky. The beauty left behind from the week long storm is a disturbing contrast to the nonstop ringing of Gladio’s cellphone, since flipped to silent, or the unshakable feeling of imminent doom that clutches him like icy hands around his throat. 

Despite, he sits at the river’s edge with Mother Nature’s deceptive beauty and watches the slow rise of the sun over the horizon, watches the dawn transform the sky, give shadows creeping life as they crawl out from the bases of their boulders and trees. The purple light of late night turns red and then gold as the sun rolls fully into the sky, throwing warmth towards them where they rest on the cool, damp sand.

Still wrapped in an unzipped sleeping bag, Noctis rolls his head over in Gladio’s lap, turning his shut eyes away from the light of day. 

The third time Ignis calls, Gladio picks up. 

“I have him,” he says, his free hand falls to the base of Noct’s skull, fingers absently twisting strands of his hair. 

“Gladio,” is all the Advisor says, his name drawn out on a sigh. Even twelve miles from the outpost, Gladio can see clearly the disappointment on his face. 

“I'm sorry,” the Shield responds. 

“I expect to see you both in Lestallum in three days time,” Ignis says. “Since you took the tent and the majority of our supplies, we’ll be enjoying the safety of the city.” 

“Okay.” 

“Three days, Gladio, or we will retrieve you ourselves.” 

“Understood.” 

Ignis hangs up. When Gladio sets the phone beside him in the sand, Noctis is awake and watching him. Gladio meets his eyes. 

He sits up and yawns, the sleeping bag falling away and Gladio’s lap feels cold in his absence. Noct takes in the scenery around them and he too seems momentarily stunned by the beauty of storm-soaked Duscae, his eyes slowly combing the length of the horizon, taking in the sight of the endlessly sprawling land he is destined to reclaim. Suddenly, Noctis manifests his rod, and without moving from his seat beside Gladio in the sand, casts his lure into the river. 

“Hungry,” he explains when Gladio gives him a look. 

“I have to take you back,” he says. “This was a mistake.” 

“I know,” Noct responds. 

They are surprisingly rational words from the same man that last night, for not the first time, had clenched angry fists into Gladio’s clothes and hair and begged him through violent sobs to take him away.

“Please, please,” he had said, his words pressed into the tear-drenched skin of Gladio’s neck. “I don't care what happens, I don't want to be the Chosen One.” 

Gladio searches him while he fishes, and with his eyes trained on the surface of the rushing water, Noctis doesn't shrink away. He looks even and calm, ever inscrutable, the hardest book Gladio has ever tried to read. 

“It was nice though,” Noctis suddenly says. Gladio leans into him while he speaks, desperate for insight into his private mind. “That you were the weak one, for once.” 

Gladio laughs, a short and sad sound, disbelieving that after all these years, Noctis still thinks Gladio is the strong one. How could he? Noctis, who holds the souls of ancient Kings in his heart, who wields their life-sapping weapons in the name of his purpose, compared to Gladio, who must train relentlessly and eat massively in an attempt to reach a size large enough to Shield his possessor's ever-growing power. Noctis, who can turn to hollow blue light and slip through Gladio's fingers while they spar, only possible to catch when he wants to be caught. Noctis, who can travel across the sky without wings and leave Gladio with his flightless feathers grounded below. Noctis, who commands the Astrals to do his bidding and now sits quietly the morning after another god has bent a knee and fishes peacefully at the storm-swollen river’s edge beside Gladio, whose hands have yet to stop shaking since Ramuh had lifted Noctis from the earth. 

Gladio has known all along who was weaker of the two. 

“Get up,” Gladio had whispered to him after everyone else had fallen asleep. 

Camper quarters are snug, and Gladio tried to be quiet as he shook Noctis in the creaky bed, eyeing Prompto and Ignis warily and hoping the pounding of his heart wasn’t as loud as it felt. 

“Noct, come on.” 

“Wha's happening?” he asked blearily, sitting up.

“Get dressed,” Gladio whispered harshly. 

Noctis obeyed, albeit slowly, sliding into his pants and tugging his shirt over his head. Gladio ground his teeth in an attempt to stop their nervous chattering in his mouth. He turned away from Noctis to gather the tent and pack of box of potions when both items dissolved into thin air, slipped away into Noctis’ armiger with a burst of blue light. Gladio wheeled to face him. 

“Where are we going?” Noctis asked softly. 

“I’m getting you out of here,” he answered. He dropped to his knees in beside the bed, shoving Noct’s feet into his unlaced boots for him. Noctis studied him thoughtfully from above. Though his eyes were unreadable, at least they were no longer glowing red and full of terror like they had been when Ramuh finally set him down. 

Gladio had grabbed Noct’s forearms in his, hauling him out of bed and onto his back like he would do with Iris when she was younger and they slipped from the camper without good-byes, distantly haunted even then by the knowledge that they would be returning. 

They had run for miles in the middle of the night, dodging daemons, dragging each other by the hand into the brush whenever the earth would crack its hellish smile and spit out another monster. When Noctis got tired, Gladio lifted him once more, carried him on his back while he scaled the rock face towards the blue smoke of an unseen haven, slithering upwards across the star-filled sky and though his hands were urgent where Noctis clung to his body, the kisses he pressed into the skin of his neck were lazy and soft and Gladio’s exhaustion faded away whenever Noctis would breathe deeply, whisper reticent sentiments into his hair. 

They had collapsed there, into each other, with no energy to pitch the tent. Thankfully, the night was warm and after they drank desperately from the rushing river beside the haven, Noctis crawled into his lap and fell asleep once more. Gladio had been sitting there since, spent the rest of the night debating the difference between protecting a King and protecting his _purpose._

The slowly rotating sky stared back at Gladio as he sat there in his shame, alone with Noctis, away from their Duty. Even in his slumber, Noct’s hands continued to grip him tight. As of late, the gravity between the two of them grew stronger, driven by the silent understanding that their days have become numbered and it only makes the pain sharper each time his King warps ahead of him into battle or is unsuspectingly dragged away from the Shield by an Astral on its warpath. 

And as much as Gladio has begun to resent the ominous lengthening of the nights, the darkness seemed to call he and Noctis by name. He could feel its irresistible pull, deep in his sinew, the watchful eyes of the stalking moon promising no peace as their fathers’ sons. When he closed his eyes against its curious face, Gladio saw the Citadel crumbling beneath falling stars, Clarus at Regis’ side as they finally laid their weapons down. The scene was a vision, delivered, or perhaps it was merely a figment of his imagination and grief, but it was a reminder nonetheless. 

By the time the sun had risen, perspective was delivered: while they had always belonged to each other, they would never belong to themselves. 

Gladio watches Noctis fish in the early morning light, takes in his bittersweet beauty where he rests beside the water and this time it is Gladio that falls victim to a flood of drowning emotion, his tears unbidden as they begin to pour over his cheeks. Noctis reels in, changes his lure, recasts, but the currents are moving too fast for fish and they both know it. Still, if the young King finds comfort in the methodical _whiz, plunk, whir,_ Gladio is not going to stop him. Noct moves one hand off the rod, laces his fingers through Gladio’s, wet from the fruitless wiping of his tears. 

“How long until they come looking for us?” Noctis asks. 

“Three days.” 

Noctis leans his head on his shoulder, staring out at the rushing river. 

“It will be nice to pretend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading
> 
> I am @taketheblanket on twitter


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